


moths stray from these different paths (paths only they can see)

by pieandsouffle



Series: Old Light [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Empire AU, Gen, Imperial AU, Imperial Han, Imperial Luke, Owen lets Luke enroll at the academy, a myriad of place-filling OCs i dont care about, imperial officer au, kind of a revamp of 'no surprises', potentially multichapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieandsouffle/pseuds/pieandsouffle
Summary: Lieutenant Commander Solo's first thought is that the noise outside signifies a vicious rebel attack. His second is that it may be imperials dying from tragically malfunctioning life support. And then he remembers that he's on board a ship with dozens of teenage recruits and ofcourse, ofcourseit has to be a brawl.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Imperial Luke is a concept that fascinates me. I think it's because I don't think there's any universe in which he WOULDN'T defect.
> 
> This is POTENTIALLY multi-chapter.

It seemed fitting that Lieutenant Commander Han Solo was in the middle of having the best night’s sleep he’d had in months when a loud squawk of shock from outside his quarters pulled him most reluctantly from it.

It took him a few seconds to frantically jump-start all his higher brain functions, and the instant his mind wasn’t moving as slowly as slowly as a Hutt on a marathon, it was filtering through all possible reasons for the noise.

The third (and worst-case scenario) was a rebel attack, and the shouts outside were the alarmed cries of imperial soldiers as they were blasted into oblivion, Han to be following shortly as he was brutally murdered before he’d even had one last cup of caf.

The second possibility that his brain suggested was a malfunction of any one of the Arbitrator’s numerous life-support systems, and the cries were the reactions of those desperately trying not to be sucked into the vacuum of space, or suffocate to death, or implode as the ship’s air pressure dropped.

And the first possibility that had entered Han’s head (and he groaned at the thought of this) was that was merely a brawl happening outside and he, undoubtedly, would be the one who would have to clear up the mess.

As a man who had excelled at getting into fights as a youth (and, although he pretended otherwise, in the present), he recognised the exact tone of the shouting was more of a kind of jeering/cheering that, in his extensive experience, pointed to only one thing: a punch-up.

He didn’t even bother getting dressed before he opened the door: if it were a superior officer in the fight, he’d get in trouble for interfering regardless of attire. If not, he couldn’t give a kriff what the brawlers thought, they were _in_ for it anyway.

The people outside – mostly petty officers and ensigns, although there was one Junior Grade Lieutenant in the mix – froze at the sight of a higher-ranking officer clad only in pyjamas, with the most horrific bedhead that no military cut could hide, and (most menacingly of all) a scowl that indicated he was not, in any time, place, or universe, pleased to have been woken up.

“ _What_ ,” Han snarled, not even bothering to hide his thick Corellian accent behind the prim Coruscanti accent all officers were expected to speak in, “do you think you are _doing?”_

To his satisfaction, every one of them looked mortified, apart from the poor kid who had appeared to take the worst of the fight, still held in a headlock by an ensign that Han (to his immense displeasure) recognised as the snotty son of a governor. Drat.

The Poor Kid didn’t seem too upset about the blood from his nosebleed dripping onto his uniform, or the sudden (but not entirely unexpected) interference from an officer, and took this opportunity to deliver a brutal Tatooinian elbow punch into his captor’s stomach. Han hid an approving smile behind a grim scowl as the ensign doubled over, wheezing, giving the Not-Really-So-Poor-After-All Kid time to wrench himself free from the headlock and stand up straight.

“Don’t you dare,” Han warned one of the ensign’s friends, Tane or something, as he stepped towards the boy, fist raised. “The next person to try _anything_ spends more time than _all of you put together_ in the brig!”

Tane reluctantly lowered his fist and retreated. “But sir – ”

“I think releasing himself from a headlock is a decent reason to land a blow, _especially_ since you decided it wasn’t important enough to let him go when I arrived! You got anything else to say?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.” Han looked at each and every one of their faces; some looking suitably contrite, others looking sour that their fight had been interrupted by a commander. The Kid didn’t have a discernible expression, mostly because his face was still covered in blood from his spectacularly bloodied nose. “Now, if one of you gives me a real _fantastic_ explanation for why you were fighting and woke me up, I might consider lessening your punishments. Any volunteers?”

There was a long and uncomfortable silence. The soldiers’ eyes flicked from person to person, desperately trying to telepathically communicate the explanation that was going to make them regret waking Lieutenant Commander Solo up for the rest of the irritating lives.

“Tick-tock,” Han said grimly, making a show of looking at the chrono on his wrist.

“It was Lars, sir.” The ensign still clutching his stomach from the finely-executed elbow punch stepped forward hurriedly, already with the smug expression of someone who gets away with everything. He gestured with his free hand towards the Kid, who hadn’t yet attempted to mop up any of the blood. His hands were still firmly by his sides in a show of respect whose effect was lessened fractionally by the gore littering his face and uniform.

“What a great explanation!” Han replied mockingly, and took vindictive pleasure in watching the ensign’s face fall. “Brilliant. You’re already walking a fine line, Finnall, but I’ll allow you to step off it to _get back in the ranks.”_

Ensign Finnall crept back into line, looking murderous.

“Now. Someone wanna try again?”

The Junior Grade Lieutenant stepped forward. “Lieutenant Daraay, sir,” she began. “Lars verbally assaulted Ensign Finnall, goading Finnall into retaliating physically.”

Han stared at her coldly. She, at least, did not shrink back. “So. You’re saying name-calling started this?”

Daraay remained silent.

“So. Lemme reiterate what you just told me: Lars called Finnall a mean name, so Finnall responded diplomatically by belting him in the face.” He watched their expressions carefully. “That about right?”

No one responded.

“ _Is that about right?_ ” Han demanded.

“Yes, sir.” Daraay avoided looking into his face.

“Well.” Han glared at the lot of them. “It’s an explanation, but I’m even less impressed now. Get back in line, Daraay.”

All the brawlers were looking sufficiently ashamed and scared now.

“Stunning behaviour from the best of his Excellency’s imperial navy.” Han shook his head, disgusted. “Good to know that if the rebels attack, they’ll be able to fark up our ranks by calling our officers mean names.” They’d all look back on this, regretting it immensely, when they were older and this was a matter of permanent record. He considered feeling guilty at being so hypocritical, considering the number of fights _he’d_ been in recently, but as their commander he had to show some damn disapproval. He turned to the Kid – Lars, apparently – whose nosebleed had appeared to have finally ceased.

“Name and rank,” he ordered.

“Lars, Junior Pilot,” the boy responded. His accent, although he made a valiant attempt to hide it, was thickly Tatooinian. Huh. Explained the beautifully performed elbow punch.

“Why did you - ” Han sent an icy look at Finnall, “ – call Ensign Finnall names, thereby causing an officer to lose all reason and propriety, and subsequently strike an inferior member of the imperial navy?”

He saw Finnall tremble in indignation from the corner of his eyes, but chose to ignore it. Han was sure the ensign was comm his daddy and Han would be in for it later, but it was so remarkably satisfying, and he knew he looked so dangerous bleary-eyed and bed-headed that they were unlikely to risk pissing him off further at the moment.

Lars blinked his one working eye and pursed his lips, picking his words very carefully. “Sir,” he started cautiously, “I have continuously experienced verbal abuse from Ensign Finnall since my placement aboard the _Arbitrator,_ and … tonight responded in a way I thought would prevent … prevent such behaviour from reoccurring.” He was wonderfully well-spoken for someone who sounded like a Rim-world hick with a broken nose.

“What did Finnall say that – actually, I don’t care. “Was Finnall the only one who physically attacked you?”

Lars licked his lip absently, and winced at the taste of blood. “No, sir. All the other officers present helped him.”

Han turned to the others, revolted. Seven against one? It was a disgusting act of cowardice, considered as such whether on the filthiest backwater planet, or in the imperial navy. They seemed to realise his disgust, and shrivelled.

 _Good_ , Han thought. He hated cowards more than any rebel. At least _they_ were brave enough to – well, _rebell_ in the first place.

He looked back at Lars. The boy had finally reached a hand up to wipe away his nosebleed. His hand missed his face the first time, and the boy seemed surprised.

Han narrowed his eyes. Only one of Lars’ eyes was open, the other swollen shut in what promised to be the most incredible black eye, but he was willing to bet the pilot’s pupils weren’t the same size. The lack of coordination, the faint swaying … clearly his adrenaline rush had worn off and he was suffering from a concussion.

The proper thing to in the scenario would be to send the whole lot of them to the brig: Finnall and his friends for harassing and assaulting a member of the navy, Lars for mouthing of to a superior and engaging in a brawl. Han opened his mouth to tell the whole lot of them to follow him to brig, Lars’ concussion be damned, but he made the mistake of looking at the boy again – so determined and unrepentant, accepting of an inevitable punishment – and somewhere between his brain and his mouth his words were changed.

“All of you,” he ordered, gesturing to the attackers, “are going to the brig. Don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise. Lars, wait here and I’ll escort you to the medbay after I deal with this lot.”

Lars blinked his one good eye, and Han saw Finnall’s mouth drop open in indignant shock.

“If any of you have complaints, I recommend you shut up, because I am _not_ in the mood to hear them,” he warned. Finnall’s jaw shut with an audible _clack_ of his teeth.

“Good,” Han said. “Now keep your mouths shut, and I might let you out after a few hours.”

* * *

 

The bored officer lounging in the brig’s office wasn’t especially surprised to see Lieutenant Commander Solo stalk in still wearing nightclothes, but then again, Brinna Baise had played witness to almost every major embarrassing event to occur on the _Arbitrator_ , and this didn’t even rank in the top fifty. Barely even memorable.

“Brawling, assault, and disturbing the peace,” Solo said grumpily, and Brinna typed it down onto her datapad.

“How long will they be here?” she asked.

“For the night. Don’t let ‘em out unless myself or a higher-ranking officer pardons them,” Solo told her. He had large bags under his eyes, and looked as though he wanted to do nothing more than go back to sleep. Poor man.

“Alright. Get in your cells,” she ordered coolly, tapping the screen of her datapad to show that she would know if they tried to bolt.

She was grateful that none of them tried anything, and obediently shuffled into their cells. Once all the doors had slid shut and bolted, she turned to Solo, who was pinching the bridge of his nose and looking, if possible, more tired.

“Not many injuries for a brawl,” she noted.

Solo sighed. “Nah. The one who got the brunt of it is waiting outside my quarters. Seven against one. Surprised he’s still conscious.”

 _Oof,_ she thought. Solo was speaking with his normal Corellian accent. He _must_ have been tired. “Any reason he isn’t with the others?”

“Concussed,” Solo grunted as a reply. “He didn’t do much anyway. Just said something and the others all went for him.” He paused, and rubbed his eyes again. “And he did a really _great_ elbow punch,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Nice to see you have your priorities,” Brinna replied. Unlike many other officers, Solo wasn’t a bad guy. More lenient, never vindictive, and with a better understanding of youth’s brains worked. She suspected – partly from his accent, partly from is behaviour – that he hadn’t had the nicest beginning to life. Sometimes stood up for underdogs, even if he pretended otherwise. “Who was he?”

“Pilot called Lars.”

“Ah, Luke Lars?” Brinna smiled as the small blonde teenager was brought to mind. “He’s a nice kid. Very bright, very polite, but I’m not in the least bit surprised he managed to get on the wrong side of Finnall. Entitled brats and good-natured farmhands don’t tend to get on well.”

Bit of an idealist, really. The kind of material she was told to look out for.

Solo cracked a grin. “I gotta take him to the medbay now, he was swaying a bit when I left.”

“You do that, Solo,” Brinna said. “I’ll have my comm on if you change your mind about this lot.”

She didn’t expect him to. If there was one thing she knew for sure about Han Solo, it was that he didn’t like cowards, however much he considered himself to be one.


	2. Chapter 2

Luke wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Lieutenant Commander Solo escorting Finnall and the others to the brig, but he was aware that his knees weren’t working quite as well as he’d have liked. Slumping against the wall, he raised a hand to wipe away some blood, but hissed and flinched as soon as his thumb made contact. The slightest pressure was excruciating, and he just gave up. It was taking an absurd amount of effort to lift his hand anyway, and the lines of the dull corridor were not as sharp as they should have been; the walls shifting in a metallic mirage. He rather suspected that if he used too much of his meagre energy stores, Solo would be returning to him lying senselessly on the deck.

 _A concussion,_ his brain told him helpfully as the back of his skull throbbed. _Probably from when Tane hit my head against the wall._

Having a concussion didn’t worry him as much as it might others. He’d gotten innumerable head injuries back on Tatooine: fights, speeder crashes, plain old clumsiness … this was one of the less severe ones, anyway. He had yet to throw up, forget who he was, or hallucinate tiny green frog men, and so considered it a victory.

“Hey, Lars.” The Lieutenant Commander was back. “You’re somehow looking worse.”

Luke frowned at the hazy outline on Solo, trying to remember whether he’d been Corellian ten minutes ago. Had he? He couldn’t remember. But he was sure that he _hadn’t_ been Corellian yesterday … “Sir … “

“Yeah, different accent,” Solo said, somehow predicting Luke’s delayed thought process. “That’s what happens when you piss off officers in the middle of the night, Lars.” He roughly grabbed Luke’s arm and towed him upright. “You good to walk?”

“Yes, sir,” Luke lied, a nasty sensation of queasiness exploding in his stomach the moment he was properly upright. Clearly the nauseous stage was bustling its way in. He hoped he’d be able to refrain from puking on Solo; he was sure that however lenient the officer was being right now, he’d be a great deal less so if covered in a subordinate’s vomit.

He also hoped the frog man wouldn’t appear this time. At the moment, he wasn’t sure he could take the grumpy manifestation of his subconscious telling him he was a failure in the most incomprehensible way.

Solo made an irritable grunt when Luke stumbled, and he automatically tried to walk faster, stand up straighter, but all that happened –

“Sir?”

“What?”

“With respect, I’m gonna puke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything else for this AU, but for some reason I wanted this unfinished chunk see the light of day.


End file.
